Please, Blame Me
by SteelyGlint
Summary: On the cusp of a major choice, regrets brew in many hearts. One heart bleeds for a lost love and a lost life. Chloe Price has chosen to give herself to save her town, but what happens when she is faced with the consequences of this decision? Is enough to push her into action? [self-harm/suicide/death] - Rated M (to be safe) {PriceField}
1. Chapter 1

**So, this is something I began writing quite some time ago. I wrote this chapter and posted it a while back, but then I removed it when i realized I wanted to write a second chapter for it.**

 **This is my first work for LiS. I have no experience writing these characters and it shows pretty clearly here.**

 **I wanted to write a work that would give a specific character proper justification to change a big decision made by another. Hence, we have this short two chapter work.**

 **I have nothing else to say. To those few, enjoy.**

* * *

 **Please, Blame Me**

* * *

" _Everything is fucked up. Nothing I have ever done has saved anyone. All I do is delay the inevitable."_

The mumbling brunette released a sigh into the chilled night air. Her breath instantly turned to mist and drifted into the darkness. She nearly sighed again, but brought the butt of her cigarette to her lips on the inhale. The smoke burned her throat on the way down and caused a scorching pain to erupt in her chest as the smolders of her cigarette deposited more soot into her lungs. She held her breath, waiting for the screaming pain that told her to breath became unbearable, before releasing the smoke that poisoned her core. The smoke came out much like her sigh, only a slight shade darker, appearing as grey rather than the misty white of her breath.

She had always hated the scent of smoke. The pungent odor that imbeds itself in every fabric of clothing it came in contact with. The grey poison would displace all of the clear air in the area, forcing you into a world dimmed by that sickening smoky haze. But this burning, hazy hell is the closest she can get to _her_.

The smell of smoke had been _her_ perfume. Never once going about the day without 'medicating' first. The brunette wished _she_ never smoked, because now she wouldn't be forced to suck down the grey poison in a desperate attempt to feel even one step closer to _her_.

" _Funny thing is, every puff really does bring me closer to you …"_

The brunette released an airy chuckle when the irony of her newfound habits caught up with her. The grin slid from her face when she realized that going down _that_ route would take far longer than she willing to wait. She felt her free hand slip into her pocket for the fifth time in the last ten minutes to double check that _it_ was still there. As soon as her frigid hand clutched around the object, she released it. She took one last puff from her poison stick and tossed it onto the ground, before stomping it out.

The brunette slowly made her way back to the structure standing erect behind her. The building is in shambles; the front door hangs on a single hinge. Nearly all of the windows are broken, those that aren't are boarded up with plywood. The paint is a faded blue, and cracking nearly everywhere. She used her foot to kick the door in, just the sight of this house made her blood boil. While she took her anger out on the structurally questionable building, she would much rather direct all of her anger and frustration at herself. She nearly pulled the object from her pocket and did the deed in the entryway, but she stopped herself. She wanted to be as close to _her_ when she did it.

Looking around the once lively home, the brunette couldn't help but be reminded of the past. A smile nearly snuck onto her face before it fell away at the site of the vase of dead flowers that sat on a nearby table. On the hardwood next to it lay a newspaper. The headline read _"Grieving Parents Die on the Anniversary of their Daughter's Death."_

The brunette must have read that article countless times. The woman in the news article, who she saw as a second mother, had been drinking herself into oblivion on her daughter's grave. Her husband had to dragged her to the car when it was getting late. They never arrived home. The man and the woman got into an argument over their dead daughter, and the husband, who was driving, ran a red light. They were blindsided by a semi. The woman died instantly, and the husband died that night in the emergency department.

The brunette remembers the funeral. Both parents were buried next to their daughter. It was that day that the brunette smoked her first cigarette. She needed to forget and she wanted to smell the smoke that she had always associated with _her_. The brunette's hands began shaking, the habitual crave to smoke had begun to claim her attention, but she willed her arm to remain where it was, rather than allowing it to pull out another cigarette.

The brunette finally reached her destination after climbing the rotting stairs and walking through the door-less room on the top floor. Posters littered the walls, each proclaiming their independence and the rebellious nature of their late owner. The brunette trudged over to the bed that sat against the far wall, on her way she passed by _her_ desk. On it laid an open photo album. Pictures of the brunette and her best friend as children could be seen on her way to the bed. She wanted to look at those pictures and get lost in her memories from a happier time, but she knew if she did she would struggle to do what she must.

The moon shone brightly outside, beams of its light flowed through the window next to the bed. The torn and tattered American flag that draped over the window caught the light and cast the room with a faint pink light. The brunette instantly remembered a different life, a different past. One where she woke up in _her_ arms, with the both of them bathing in that same pink light, only the light was warm and comforting. She remembers not wanting to rise from her spot.

But the hollow echo of a gunshot rips her from her happy memory. She feels the cool tile beneath her once more. She hears the slue of curses and panicked rambling coming from the owner of the gun, she hers the subtle noise of a gushing liquid as it seeps onto the dirty bathroom floor. The brunette's hands ball into fists so tight, her nails dig into the flesh. Only when her palms are slick with blood does she wake from that nightmare. She looks down at her now bleeding hands, wondering if she should search for a first aid kit, but she waves off the idea.

With _that_ awful memory still fresh in her mind, the brunette flops down onto the bed. She pulls the object from her pocket out and positions herself on the left side of the bed, facing the empty spot on the right side. She nuzzles into the empty pillow next to hers, desperate to find that same smoky smell she missed so dearly, she feels tears cascading down her face when she can't.

Abandoning her futile attempts, the brunette flips over so she is staring up at the ceiling. The object from her pocket is firmly grasped in her left hand. She takes several deep breaths before bringing it up to the wrist of her right arm. The object slices through her skin with relative ease, opening a long slit up the length of her forearm. Before she loses all strength in her now bleeding hand, she switches the object to her right and repeats the process on her left arm. The object falls to the ground, its bloodied edge glistens in the moonlight.

The brunette feels her life spilling from her arms. The tattoo on her right arm, _her_ tattoo, is now stained with blood. The brunette doesn't even feel the throb of pain that shoots up her arms, she has already lost too much blood. Accepting her self-inflicted fate, she closes her eyes to picture her beloved. _She_ is standing before her, arms outstretched, waiting for a hug. A head of azure locks sways in the soft breeze. The brunette can practically feel the warmth radiating off of _her_ skin, as if she were really there.

In the last of her functioning mind, she swears she hears someone screaming her name. When she recognizes the voice at last a single word tumbles from her lips, carried by her final breath.

"Chloe."

* * *

 **End of Chapter 1**


	2. Chapter 2

**So this is the other half of the idea I had when i wrote the first part. I intended to make this much longer and much more complex, but i realized that I wouldn't be able to take on such a big task given how little experience i have writing for these characters.**

 **I don't have a very good handle on Chloe's character which clearly shows here, but for my extremely low standards, its tolerable.**

 **Nothing else to say. So, to those few, enjoy.**

* * *

 **Please, Blame Me – Chapter 2**

* * *

The howling wind whips at her face, throwing an endless torrent of dirt and water against her. Before she can even offer a protest she is soaked to the bone. Dirt and mud sticks to her skin, mixing with the thin layer of sweat, creating a grimy film that covers her from head to toe. Her companion standing just ahead of her is in the same state. The shorter brunette is staring hopelessly at the behemoth bearing down on Arcadia Bay.

The tornado is nearly a mile wide; its formidable silhouette dominates the horizon, even the sun has been blocked by the monster slowly crawling towards the town. The winds whipping out from its walls ravage any structure not secured to the ground. Debris is flying everywhere, smashing into homes, blocking roads. It is absolute hell down in town.

Max and her are safe up by the lighthouse. How fitting that their childhood hangout would be one of the only safe havens in town, other than Jefferson's bunker.

Max is panicking. A picture is held tightly in her hand. It's the picture of the blue butterfly she took in the bathroom a week ago. Chloe has made her peace. She has accepted her fate. For the first time in her miserable little life, Chloe actually cares about what happens to Arcadia Bay. She is even willing to let herself die to save it.

If she could go back and make sure she died in that bathroom she would, but she can't. Max has to do it. Max, who has gone to hell and back trying to save her worthless ass, has to be the one to go back in time and let her die.

Chloe can see the struggle in Max's face. She can see the conflicting emotions. The battle for dominance within Max persists even as she brings her lips towards hers.

The kiss is wet and cold and Max is trembling fiercely. Chloe is filled with satisfying warmth when their lips meet, but that warm feeling it swept away with the howling wind when they part.

The kiss stirs up the emotions Chloe has buried deep within herself, emotions that have been left untouched leading up to their discovery of the Dark Room. Following the discovery of Rachel's corpse, a mountain of grief buried these feelings, but now they were resurfacing anew. They clawed at her heart, urging her to latch onto Max and never let her go. They told her to rip that photo from Max's hand and throw it to the wind. They screamed to stop her, to stop Max from letting go.

But Chloe's resolve held firm. Max was on the cusp of deciding. She only needed one more push. Before the newly emerged feelings could consume her, Chloe belted out in a strangled and pain voice.

"J-just go! Before I freak!"

Max turned to look at her one last time. The look of broken resignation in Max's face sent a paralyzing jolt through Chloe. The dread in Max's eyes broke her heart, before they fell to the picture still clutched in her hand.

Max's silhouette began to fade. So too does the land. Everything begins to fizzle out, like an old tube-TV finally about to die. Chloe, still rooted in place from the look Max gave her, can only look on in horror as the world around her falls away from reality, giving way to black. Before she realizes it Max is gone, no doubt in the process of fixing this whole mess.

Yet time does not rewind. Chloe finds herself stuck on a solitary patch of soil, floating in an abyss of darkness. Chloe's vocal chords recover from the chilling wind as she starts wonders aloud.

"Is this what its like when Max goes back in time? I wonder how many times I've seen this fucked-up place only to have my memory whipped by time? I'm sure I'll be back in Shit-well soon, getting shot by Pres-cock."

The echo of her voice in the void sends a shiver up her spine. When a few minutes pass, Chloe begins to grow anxious.

"Damn, I could really use a hit to deal with this shit! Hurry up Super-Max, let me die already!" Her voice cracked at the end.

With no tornado, or storm, or broken best friend left to preoccupy her mind, Chloe's mind returned to those unexplored feelings. They seemed to be making her heart throb in pain whenever Max would pop up in her mind. Just picturing the brunette filled her eyes with tears, but she never let them fall.

"What the hell is wrong with me?! I'm not some sentimental, touchy-feely, bitch who cries for no goddamned reason! For Fuck's sake Max! Hurry up!"

 _Why the hell am I getting so torn up about this? When the hell have I ever given more than two shits about anyone other than Chloe-fucking-Price? I mean, sure, I'm sacrificing myself for Official-Shit-hole-Arcadia Bay, but that's only because I'm destined to die. I nearly died dozens of times in this last week … hell, according to Max I really did die a couple times. So what's the point in keeping me alive? When there are hundred of people in Arcadia Bay who deserve to live so much more than I do?!_

The tears in Chloe's eyes began to spill over.

 _Nathan Pres-cock was right … no one would even miss my punk-ass …_ _ **maybe**_ _Ma-_

The floating soil holding Chloe in suspension finally fell into the void, the bluenette plummeting with it. Images of the last week raced through her mind. Nearly every one of them featured Max. Images of seeing Max for the first time in 5-years surfaced, followed by ones from Two Whales, the junkyard, the Blackwell swimming pool, and dozens of others.

The last one was the picture of Max and her curled up on her bed in nothing but their underwear. A faint pink light filling her bedroom made it warm and cozy. She remembers waking up next to Max and watching the brunette sleep peacefully. In that instant, those unexplored feelings resurfaced again. They filled her to the brim, making her heart swell, it became hard to breath, and her head swam.

Realization dawned on Chloe as she free fell in the endless void.

 _Shit, I done fucked up. 5 years gone … she comes back and makes me fall head-over-heels for her in a week. Fuck! I loved her … I fucking loved her. I was in love with Max-fucking-Caulfield and I was too dumb and too slow to realize it! Fuck!_

The new pain that filled her heart, now named heartbreak, sent numbing throbs through her body. The numbness bled into every limb and every inch of skin. She couldn't feel the empty darkness whip by her at impossible speeds, but she knew she was free falling. In her numbness she failed to notice the new feeling of air whipping at her body, and with her eyes closed she didn't see a grassy patch of soil rush up to meet her.

The impact was sudden. After falling for several minutes, her soaked frame had worked its way up to terminal velocity, making the unexpected landing all the more painful. The sound of a sickening thud filled her ears an instant before blinding pain erupted from her back. Stars popped up from behind her clenched eyelids.

Every bone in her body was screaming in pain at the sudden halting of movement. The air that was knocked from her lungs had yet to rush back in, leaving her gasping for air. The fall should have killed her. It should have pulverized her spine and given a quick and painless death, but it didn't. For all the pain she was suffering at the moment, it felt no different than if she fell from a ladder.

Her spine, which should have shattered, only creaked from the impact. Her head, which slammed into the soil and should have cracked open, was left with only a dull throbbing. She was alive, when she should have died. A morbid thought crosses her mind.

 _Heh, I guess the universe is starting to play to Max's tune … I should have died; yet here I am …_

After a good while, the pain in her head and back begin to fade. In no time the pain is no more than a distant memory. Chloe, having given up trying to understand exactly what is going on, simply shrugs to herself before rising to her feet.

As she stretches and pops her joints, she takes in her surroundings. She appears to be in a graveyard. All traces of the black void that she fell through are gone. Only the trimmed lawn surrounding the rows of tombstones is in view, on the perimeter a grey mist obscures whatever lies beyond.

Chloe's instincts scream at her to not try and cross the grey mist. Instead she takes to scouring the gravestones, looking for any clue as to where or when she is. Most of the names, she doesn't recognize, until she comes to the last one to check.

Her breath catches in her throat.

This tombstone bore her name: **Chloe Price**

Before she can even react, she hears a sniffle sound from behind her. Whipping around at the sound, Chloe's breath hitches a second time. There, standing before her grave, a crumpled tissue in one hand and a full bottle of wine in the other, stood Joyce Price, her mother.

Relief floods through her when her eyes fall upon the older woman. Her mother was one of the few people she was truly sacrificing herself for. To see her alive and well relieved Chloe immensely. The bluenette rushed forward to hug her mother, a gesture she hadn't given the woman in years.

As she approached the older woman, she stopped short. Joyce's eyes were glazed over. She was not looking at her living, breathing daughter mere inches in front of her. Her gaze pierced through Chloe and bore into the gravestone directly behind her. Before her fears could clog her throat, Chloe spoke out to the woman.

"M-mom?" Joyce never stirred. As if she didn't even hear her daughter.

"M- … Mom!" Chloe reached forward and attempted to grab her mother's wrist to snap her out of whatever trance she was stuck in.

Chloe's hand passed straight through Joyce's wrist. The cold sensation that coursed through her system caused Chloe to snap her arm back to her body.

 _I'm a ghost … I'm a fuck-all ghost! … Max … she did it …_

That idea filled her with equal parts dread and relief. It meant Max really let her go, but it also meant that Arcadia Bay was never hit by the tornado.

 _So long as_ _ **they**_ _live … I'm fine with this._

Chloe tried to convince herself that she didn't regret her decision. That Max deserves to be with someone worthy of her, someone who doesn't drag her down like she did. She tries to convince herself that her life was really as insignificant as she felt it was.

As her internal struggle continues on, Joyce moves forward, passing straight through Chloe. Again, the chilling sensation of phasing through someone snaps her out of her thoughts. She turns to watch her mother mourn her.

Joyce plops down on the grass just in front of the tombstone, in a rather unladylike fashion. But the grieving mother couldn't care less what she looks like. She simply uncorks the wine bottle and tilts her head back as she drinks it straight. Chloe releases a surprised whistle at the sight.

"Damn, Momma-Bear … didn't know you had it in ya'."

Chloe keeps watching as Joyce took swig after swig of the wine. Once Joyce pitches side-ways and falls onto the ground, Chloe knows she is drunk. Only when she rights herself, does Joyce begin talking.

"Wh- … why? Why did you have to take my baby?! Why?! She had her whole life ahead of her! WHY!?"

Chloe is horrified when she realizes Joyce is sobbing angry tears at her gravestone. The older woman takes another gulp of wine, this time drinking much more than she was before. Every gulp only made her cry even harder. In no time, Joyce's voice was raw and horse.

Chloe's head falls to her hands as she takes in what her mother has become.

 _I … I did it so you could live … so you could be happy and survive. I … I knew you loved me, I was your fucking daughter … but … I …_

The rest of her train of thought was cut off by the emergence of a new voice.

"Joyce, sweetie … I thought you promised me that you wouldn't do this this year? We talked about this …"

Chloe turned around to find David. His eyes were bloodshot with bags beneath them, betraying just how little sleep he was getting each night. His moustache had grown into a full beard, but it was unkempt with strands sticking out every which way. His clothes were dirty and tattered, as if they hadn't been washing in several days.

Overall, he was a mess. Chloe was immensely surprised to find David, Mr. Control-Freak himself, so out of control of his life. A sick little voice in the back of Chloe's mind reminded her that this run down man was suffering because of her selfish decision.

 _No, if Step-Ass McGross over here has anyone to blame for this, it's himself … after all he-_

Chloe's defensive argument died in her throat when she looked back at Joyce. Who had her head tilted back and was taking gulp after gulp of the wine. In a matter of seconds, the older woman downed the other half of the bottle.

At the sight, David lunged forward to smack the bottle out of the drunken woman's hand. But he was too late, she had already consumed every single drop of the liquid. Immediately following the finishing of the wine, Joyce attempted to stand, but fell forward and smacked her head against the gravestone. David cursed under his breath as he moved to pull his wife away from the grave sight of his stepdaughter.

Joyce fought against him, latching on to Chloe's gravestone in desperate abandon, But David's superior strength soon won. The grumbling man dragged his wife away from the grave and through the grey mist a few feet away. Chloe could only watch.

A few seconds later, the soil beneath her feet crumbled into oblivion once more. She began falling through the darkness once more. This time she was in flight for only a few seconds, the ground that rushed up to her was met with her feet rather than her back. Chloe landed on the ground, going into a crouch to mitigate the impact.

The ground, this time, was not soil but concrete. Chloe soon found herself standing on a sidewalk, right next to a crosswalk. Grey mist surrounded her on three sides, forcing her attention to the four-way intersection before her. Confused about her new location, Chloe made to investigate her new surroundings, but her body refused to move.

Mild panic rose up her throat, before movement caught her eye. She looked up to the road to see David's vehicle, hurtling down the road at speeds that were clearly illegal. From her view on the sidewalk she could see David and Joyce's faces red with anger and mid arguement. The struggle continued leading into the intersection. Chloe noticed that their signal light was red, and the crossing traffic's light was green.

Before she could yell to warn them, David's car darted out into the intersection, right into the path of a semi-truck barreling across the intersection to beat the red light.

The truck slammed into the one holding her mother and stepfather. The smaller vehicle crumpled from the impact. The right side, where Joyce was seated, was completely crushed, blood splattered across the car and the truck alike. The seat where her mother once sat was gone, flattened against twisted metal and crumpled steel.

A shriek of terror erupted from Chloe at the sight of her mother's blood splattered all across the car.

David, who was on the far side of the car, was covered in blood. Whether it was his or Joyce's was indecipherable. A nasty gash stretched from the top of his head down the back of his neck. Blood was pouring out of his wounds.

Chloe stunned into silence at the sight. The moment of impact that instantly ended her drunken mother's life played on loop in her mind. David's critical condition only served to cement the horrifying crash in her mind.

 _I … I did this …_

The sound of sirens cut through the deafening silence that rested over the crash site. Chloe turned her head towards the grey mist, about to call out for help, when the mist enveloped her. She clenched her eyes as the walls closed in around her.

In an instant, she realized that the cloudy substance was not mist, but smoke. It carried with it the unmistakable stench of tobacco. Chloe could feel the floating embers fill her lungs with ever breath, scorching her insides, before releasing the smoke out again.

Once she exhaled Chloe could feel smoke being blown into her face. Upon opening her eyes, she came face to face with Max Caulfield. The brunette was standing in front of her house, smoking in the moonlight. She was older by about three or four years. Her hair was now brown, but an uncharacteristic sheen could be seen in the moonlight, suggesting that Max hadn't taken a shower in a few days.

The brunette wore dirtied clothes that stunk of ash. Her right arm was covered in a tattoo, a mild gasp escaped from Chloe when she realized that it was _her_ tattoo that was now imprinted into Max's flesh. The rest of her skin was sickly pale with a thin layer of sweat covering her.

Her eyes were yellow, and harbored bags underneath them. The look of dreaded resignation on the brunette's face instantly reminded Chloe of their last time together at the lighthouse, it even sent the same pang of heartache through her. Through the dread and despair, Chloe could see a certain determination in Max's eyes. She had a mission.

Max took one more drag from the cigarette; Chloe was still trying to process the fact that Max was smoking, before throwing it to the ground and stamping it out.

 _Damn, I had always hoped that my habit of smoking would never wear off on her. I was even thinking about quitting leading up to the storm … fuck, Max … what happened to you?_

Chloe followed Max into her run down house. The bluenette winced when Max kicked the front door in. Chloe might have seen this house as a prison of sorts, but it was still her home. Max stopped in the entryway for a moment, Chloe continued into the house. On the hallway table nearby a vase of dead flowers collected dust along side a folded newspaper, the headline read:

 _ **Grieving Parents Die on the Anniversary of their Daughter's Death**_

A sickening lump formed in Chloe's stomach when a picture of the wreck she just witnessed appeared just below the headline. She swallowed her still fresh tears from the memory of watching her mother die, a small apology to David fell from her lips too.

When she turned back to Max, the brunette was gone. Panic surged through her at the prospect of losing Max.

 _No! Joyce and David's deaths were my fault … Max … I can't lose Max too!_

The sound of her bed upstairs creaking told her that Max was in her room. The bluenette vaulted up the stairs, tripping on the rotten boards that made up each step. By the time she reached her bedroom, Max was lying down on the bed, looking at the ceiling. A look of determination passed across her face, just before she pulled a box cutter from her pocket and slashed her arms, from wrist to elbow.

A bark of protective anger escaped Chloe.

"MAX! What the fuck you doing?! What the fucking-hell are you thinking?!"

Chloe was furious. She would legitimately fuck up anyone who hurt her Max, and the sight of Max, her savior and best friend, slashing up her own wrists caused the same fierce protectiveness to surface. But when Chloe bent down to apply pressure to one of Max's bleeding wrists, she remembered that she wasn't really there. In an instant desperate confusion replaces her rage.

"Why, Max? Why are you doing this?! I … I thought we fixed everything … I thought everything would be solved if I died in that bathroom … so why?! Why would you do this?!"

The light from Max's eyes began to fade. The confusion gave way to panicked despair.

"Max! MAX! Stay with me, Max! No, no, no, no, no … MAX!"

For a brief instant Max's near lifeless eyes locked with Chloe's, the bluenette's breath hitched at the sight. With her final breath, Max expelled a single word.

"Chloe …"

* * *

Max's eyes hardened in death, the light gone from her eyes, never to return again. Her warm skin cooled in a matter of seconds, and the rise and fall of her chest grew still.

After having watched the death of Joyce, David, and now Max, Chloe broke down completely. She sobbed her heart out. Crying for her mother, for her step-father, and for her best friend and love of her life. She cried and cried, all the while cursing whatever merciless god was showing her these images. She cried until her voice gave out on her.

By the time she had exhausted all of her tears, Max's body had become stiff from death. She desperately clawed at Max, desperate to feel the skin of her beloved hipster once more, but her hands simply passed right through the brunette's corpse.

Anger and regret surged up from within her. She began slamming her fists on the ground, begging for it to crumble and allow her to fall into oblivion.

 _What the fuck! I willingly sacrificed myself so that Mom, step-dou- … David, and Max could go on to live full and happy lives. Not this! I wanted them to be happy, what the fuck is the point in letting me die if this is their future?!_

A sinking feeling forms in Chloe's gut. She instantly regrets telling Max to let her die in that bathroom. In truth, she was only willing to sacrifice herself to save her Mom, David, and Max. Everyone else helped sway her decision in favor of Arcadia Bay rather than herself, but really it was those three people that she was doing it for.

So what was the point? If her mother and David end up dead because of her anyways, then maybe they would have a better chance riding out the storm in the diner? And Max …

After realizing her feelings for Max, the sight of the brunette taking her life hurt all the more. To Chloe, Max had always been the one who was destined for brighter and better things. Max was the one with a future. Max was the one with potential to thrive in the world. To Chloe, Max alone would have been reason enough to throw it all away. So when she saw Max throw away her whole life, she couldn't hold onto the façade she had been maintaining.

She really didn't want to die. She wanted to take on the world, with Max by her side, her partner in crime and her partner in time.

 _If I had one more chance … I would make this right. I would fix everything. If only-_

The hardwood flooring fell apart at the joints, allowing Chloe to fall once more. She was falling for only an instant, before she felt her feet impact with soil once more. Wind was whipping at her body, dirt was flying into her eyes. Her clothes and beany were soaked, and an uncomfortable chill racked her frame.

Max was standing just in front of her, looking back at her. The massive tornado in the background crawled towards the town.

 _I … I'm back! Was I imagining the whole thing? Trying to make up some reason to make Max stay?_

The look on Max's face was the same one of dreaded resignation. It was the face she made just before she jumped back to the past to let her best friend die. It was the same face she made just before taking her own life.

Max's eyes fell to the picture clutched in her hand, just as Chloe's shot out towards her. The bluenette wrapped her arms around the trembling brunette, a look of confusion flashed across Max's face. Before Max could say anything, Chloe ripped the picture from her hand and threw it into the wind.

Max offered no resistance. As if she was hoping for Chloe to stop her all along. The punk wrapped her arms tighter around her hipster, pulling her back into her chest. In a voice laced with unstable emotion, Chloe spoke into Max's ear.

"I'm sorry! I was selfish and stupid to ask you to do that! I … I love you too damn much to let you go … I love you too much to let you let me go. I'm selfish that way too. So please! If you want someone to fault her … someone to pin the blame on for dooming Arcadia Bay and all of assholes who call this shit-hole home … then please, blame me!"

Tears of relief, joy, sadness, regret, and appreciation fell from Max's eyes. She turned in Chloe's embrace until she was facing the sobbing bluenette, before pressing their lips together once more.

"I love you too, Chloe … so much … and I could never blame you … ever!"

At Max's declaration Chloe squeezed the brunette tighter. The two hugging girls watched Arcadia Bay get torn to shreds by the massive tornado. Both of them carried regrets, wishing they could do things over again, but they knew that this was their final chance. They had each other, and that's all they needed to over come what the future had in store for them.

* * *

 **End of Please, Blame Me**


End file.
